


Doppleganger

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: Highlander: The Series, Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Crossover, Don’t copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: Nikola mistakes Methos for Watson, and finds a distraction and potential partner for mayhem in the process.





	Doppleganger

He had only stayed at the Sanctuary a few days after he and Helen returned from the adventure in Africa. He's himself again, now, and there's so much he can do, should do. Some of which - most, if he's honest with himself - Helen will disapprove of, and try to stop. Nikola knows she'll probably stop him anyway, and he'll let her, like he always does. Especially if something goes wrong because he overlooked some variable that turns out to be of vital importance.

Avoiding cities where Helen's Sanctuary network has a strong presence is also a good idea, to lessen the chances that he'll be found out before he wants to be. At least, he'd assumed he wouldn't be found out before he wants to be. When he spots someone who looks an awful lot like James, he's not so certain. It's not impossible to imagine that somehow his old friend has somehow been resurrected, but Nikola wonders if Helen would let James out of her sight if that were the case.

Of course, that assumes she knows, and this isn't the work of some rogue Cabal cell, or something of the Praxians' design. Either is possible, if exceedingly unlikely. Nikola tilts his head slightly, watching James from the comfort of the cafe he's been drinking dry of decent wine this morning. Waiting for him to realize he's being watched, and investigate just who's doing the watching.

Methos almost ignores the feeling of being watched. There's no Immortal presence to be felt, and paying attention to the Watchers will only draw more attention down on him, if it is indeed them. In the end, though, the paranoia that he likes to call a well-honed survival instinct has him looking in shop windows as discreetly as he can until he spots his observer. There's something vaguely familiar about the man, though no more than in a thousand other instances in which one mortal or another reminds him of someone long dead. The look of recognition in his eyes is far more easily pinned down, and Methos stifles an irritated sigh. The man is no doubt a casual acquaintance whom it would be rude not to greet. Methos will just have to hope that he can get by without remembering the man's name. Turning, he smiles and waves a hand in greeting, then crosses to the man's side, smiling down at him. "It's been a while," he says, in hopes that that the man will tell him when they'd last met, and allow Methos to pin down his recalcitrant memory.

"Quite a while. And you're supposed to be dead." Nikola takes another sip of his wine, watching James with a faint frown on his face. There's no recognition in his eyes, none of the familiar sardonic amusement at Nikola's barb. Not to mention the lack of any sign of the machinery that had kept James alive for more than a century.

And isn't that a pleasant thing for an Immortal who's trying to fly under the radar to hear? Methos makes a dismissive face, feigning unconcern.

"You're hardly the first person to say so," he shrugs. "So long as you're not planning on correcting the error, I don't see that it particularly matters."

That was entirely the wrong thing for James to say - and there is, on a second look at the man, the lack of cravat, and the far more modern attire than Nikola has seen James wear. "If you were who I thought you were, it would matter. But you're not James Watson, and so, a very different sort of curiosity."

The worst of Methos' tension drains away at that. "A chance resemblance, then - which means my worries about having rudely failed to recognize you are unfounded." It also means that he can stop worrying that he's started to forget the recent past as well. "My apologies for intruding."

"Oh, don't apologize." Nikola smiles, waving expansively at the seat across from him. "Join me, have a drink." There's still something niggling at him, and he'll figure it out after a bit, if the man holds still long enough. He isn't James, but he is something that is attracting his curiosity. Like lightning calling to him, and isn't that a wonderful thought. "And tell me how you generate that fascinating EM field of yours."

"I beg your pardon?" Methos says with icy courtesy - but he sits anyway. This man is mortal, and therefore no real threat, not in this age of firearms. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, either by the term or the request." It's a lie - he knows very well what the term means, and can easily understand why anyone who can sense it would be curious.

"Please. Don't act stupid, it doesn't suit you." Rather, it wouldn't have suited James, and Nikola doesn't want it to suit this doppleganger. It would be such a disappointment. "That EM field of yours, that's practically crackling around you, such a lovely thing. A charge a grounding point away from arcing, and yet all self-contained. I've never met an abnormal with anything like it." The thrill of being on the edge of a new discovery is almost as good as the rush of becoming a vampire once more, and this could be a way to give Helen a good challenge when she tries to stop him this time.

"I like to think of myself as unique." Methos offers up a bland smile and a deliberately skeptical eyebrow. "What do you mean by abnormal?" It's not the term he'd have chosen no matter how apt - though of course neither is Immortal, as it attracts too much attention.

"Not human." Nikola raises his glass to take another sip of his wine, and frowns when he finds it empty - as is the bottle on the table. "Can I get some service out here? The bottle's empty." He's paying them well enough to keep bringing him bottles of ridiculously expensive wine that really isn't worth what they charge for it.

"Unique doesn't really give me any idea how you generate that field. More electric than magnetic, thank God, because I really had enough of being a human magnet before Helen was so generous as to make sure I was returned to all my former glory." It doesn't hurt that he's kept the ability to manipulate magnetic fields, as well as reaquiring the ability to manipulate electricity. He rather enjoys it, and he wonders for a moment if he might be able to manipulate the abnormal's field, though he doesn't try yet.

"Nor does unique mean inhuman. At least in my case," Methos adds, as the waitress appears. "I'll take a beer," he tells her, and waits until she's moved off before continuing. "Though apparently it does, in your case." Leaning back in his seat, he looks the man over carefully. There's a prickle of threat there, a hint of danger, and Methos is glad that he's carrying his usual arsenal. Human or inhuman, everything dies if you shoot it enough times, and cut it into enough pieces. "Satisfy my curiosity. Maybe I'll be moved to do the same for you."

"I asked first." Focusing a moment, Nikola prods at the field surrounding the abnormal - and never mind that he thought of himself as human, he clearly wasn't - wondering just what would happen as he did so.

Methos sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening in stunned disbelief. It feels as if someone - and he can guess who that someone might be - has reached inside him and run their fingers across his soul. Bits of the Quickenings he's taken over the years stir in his mind like dead leaves blown by the wind, and his own Quickening rises in response - or maybe self defense. Whichever it is, he can suddenly feel the power humming under his own skin much like it does after a challenge, leaving him strung wire tight and aching with desire. It's not the unfocused, post-battle need that's tugging at him: this is directed, makes him *want*, and hyper-aware of the man sitting across the table from him. His first instinct is to satisfy that hunger. His second is to take the bastard's head. He ignores both temptations and leans forward instead, putting both hands flat on the table.

"What the hell did you just do?" he demands.

Nikola grins, cheerful and a bit gleeful at the flare of response he got to his prodding. A flare, and now there's a change in frequency, vibrating across his skin. It's a delightful new sensation, and he enjoys it for a moment, almost missing the man's question. "Nothing much. Just a little nudge."

He doesn't bother to even look up when the waitress returns, setting a beer down for his guest, and presenting Nikola with another bottle of wine, as well as a new glass. He only takes enough of a look at the label to determine it's a passable vintage before waving the waitress away.

"Tell me more about it, and maybe I won't prod at it again. Unless you ask nicely, of course." He reaches for the cork puller that's been left at his table, deftly opening the bottle before pouring a glass. "I might even tell you about me."

Methos takes a long, shaky breath and exhales, using the moment to remind himself that he's Adam, and that Adam's reaction should be curiosity rather than the impulse to destroy the threat entirely.

"It's called a Quickening," he finally says, "and you shouldn't have been able to sense it, let alone touch it. It's the reason I look like I'm in my mid twenties, instead of showing my actual age." He has no intention of telling the man *that* number - though he doesn't know that he'll be in a position to stop himself, should the bastard really start mucking about with his Quickening. He's still vibrating with excess energy, and almost shaking with a hunger he has to force himself to ignore.

"Interesting." Nikola swirls his wine in his glass a moment before taking a sip, letting out a brief hum of approval. "Although I don't see how you'd imagine I wouldn't be able to sense it. It is only just a simple electro-magnetic field, easily detected by the right equipment. Unless of course you're me, and I don't need any equipment."

That the man is older than he looks doesn't really faze Nikola at all - he's met more than one abnormal with an incredibly long lifespan, and vampires, of course, are immortal. "If that's all it does, though, I'd be surprised. It changed frequency when I prodded it, and that shouldn't have happened, since I wasn't trying to do that."

"That's because it's a great deal more than a simple electromagnetic field," Methos retorts. "Machines don't pick it up." Not unless it's being transferred, anyway. "It's *me* - or a large part of me, anyway. You were essentially prodding at my soul." It's not the best word for what the Quickening is, but it is the best one to use when explaining it to those who don't have one. He smiles thinly. "Now. I believe it's your turn to explain a few things."

"There really isn't much to explain." Nikola studies his glass a moment before grinning around a mouthful of suddenly sharp teeth, glancing over at his guest with eyes which have pupils that are indistinguishable from the irises, and blood-red sclera. His voice has dropped nearly an octave, and he smirks with amusement. "I'm just a genius vampire with a mastery of electricity."

Because that's exactly who Methos wants to be able to play games with his Quickening. He resists the urge to close his eyes or otherwise show dismay, and smiles instead. If it doesn't quite reach his eyes, so be it. He has other concerns at the moment - like settling his Quickening back down, and ignoring the temptation that the thought of a vampire's sharp teeth in his own so-sensitive neck always provokes.

"Practically commonplace," he murmurs, with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. Hopefully the noise and smells in the street will keep the vampire from noticing Methos' reaction. He and Kronos - and the other two, once they were four - had cut a bloody swathe through the vampires during the Horsemen's heyday, in part because Kronos hadn't been able to stand Methos' fascination with the creatures. Of course, none of those vampires had even been capable of *sensing* Methos' Quickening.

"I'm afraid I'm one of a kind." Nikola gives a rather theatrical sigh, settling back into human features. "Helen and I did find the resting place of Afina, but she was rather a bitch. Still, without her blood, at least, I wouldn't be who I am now." He'd still be a human magnet and mortal and how he hates to think of that too hard, since he's now again what he should be, what he was meant to be.

Methos laughs, though the sound has very little humor in it. "If I were you, I'd forgive her bad temper." Not forget, of course - Methos never forgets that sort of thing, which is one of the reasons he's managed to stay alive this long. "After all, you don't seem to be mourning your mortality, any more than I do myself." Distraction is key. Maybe if he keeps the vampire's curiosity piqued, the creature will forget that he can essentially do what he wants with Methos' Quickening - and with Methos as well. Tomorrow, Methos plans to find the most skilled witch he can, and to have her layer all the protective spells she knows around him. Tonight, all he can do is to distract the vampire, and hope it works.

"A temper wouldn't have bothered me." Taking a sip of his wine, Nikola grimaces, and shrugs, dismissing Afina and the small debacle that had happened around meeting her. There are, after all, far more fascinating things to investigate, like just what he can do with the abnormal's EM field. "And of course I don't mourn my mortality. I was well rid of it the first time, until some little spoiled brat ruined one of my plans for world domination and the resurrection of the ancient vampire race."

He tilts his head, studying the abnormal speculatively before giving the field another nudge, this time with the express intention of shifting its frequency upward. Curious about what it would do, though he does keep the shift small - he doesn't actually want to kill the abnomal, after all.

Methos clenches his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms and biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, hoping that the pain will ground him. Any Quickening - but especially one as old and strong as his - makes the most powerful drugs seem like candy, and the vampire seems intent on pushing him past the point of caution and into the realm where sensation and emotion and desire are all that matters. If the vampire were draining it, stopping him would be simple enough. Instead, he's amplifying it, feeding Methos' own Quickening back to him in a way that strips the pain from the experience but still leaves him overstimulated, his very skin craving touch. He wraps his arms around himself, pulling Adam over himself like a shield. It doesn't help. The touch of his own hands on his arms makes him shiver in reaction, and the breathless quality of his voice can't be hidden.

"Don't," he manages - but he doesn't manage to sound as if he means it. This is something new, and he can't resist his reaction, or the temptation to see just where it will lead.

"Don't what?" Any reaction would have been gratifying, and that he's gotten more out of the man with a simple manipulation than he can get from Helen without a chase, trouble, and a lecture afterward. Or out of John without more than a small amount of danger and possibly a near-death experience. "I have a room at the hotel across the street if you'd rather continue this conversation in privacy rather than in full view of a street full of disturbingly oblivious humans."

A shiver runs through Methos at that thought, though whether it's one of anticipation or simply nerves is impossible to say. He means to shake his head but nods instead: means to use the freedom of the outside air to clear his head and put a permanent end to this threat - and finds himself following the vampire instead, drawn by the rush of his own Quickening through his veins, by the thought of teeth in his throat, and by the nearly overwhelming desire to touch and be touched, to surrender not only his body but his self and his iron control, if only for a little bit. When the hotel room door closes behind him, Methos takes an involuntary step back, until he can feel the wood against his spine. He hasn't wanted something this badly, or worried about wanting it, since the first time Kronos took him raiding and then to bed afterwards. He's so hard it aches, and grateful for Adam's sweaters and his own long, rumpled coat, both of which serve as concealment for his body.

Nikola chuckles when the abnormal backs up against the door. "I don't plan to hurt you, and really, I'm not interested in doing something against the door. Anyone could hear, after all, and I haven't entirely grown out of certain Victorian instincts, even if this sort of thing won't get us arrested any longer." It's the sense of discretion that the current century seems to have discarded, which sometimes bothers him as much as other changes that have occured - while other changes have simply entertained him, and others have been far more useful than he'll admit aloud.

The mention of the Victorian era makes Methos relax a little. Despite the vampire's other talents, he's still a relative infant, and age is an advantage all of its own. There are certain ways that modern men - no matter what they've become - simply don't think, a ruthlessness that died out around the same time as the Industrial Revolution that Methos apparently won't have to worry about.

"What were you planning on doing?" he asks, with a slight lift of one eyebrow. "The Victorians were shocked by all sorts of things, but not all of them were enjoyable."

"A number of things, actually. Some of which I'm sure my contemporaries couldn't even have dreamed of." Nikola grins, amused at the relaxation that mentioning he'd grown up in Victoria's era - not her Britain, but still that era. "And where are my manners, I've neglected to introduce myself. Nikola Tesla."

"I've heard the name," Methos admits, smiling faintly. "I'm Adam Pierson." The courtesies have allowed his Quickening a chance to settle, at least a little bit, and his head to clear. He takes a few steps into the room, looking around, his hands in his coat pockets. "I have to say, I didn't expect to actually meet you."

"Rumours of my timely demise were deliberately fabricated." Nikola watches Adam as he looks around the room, before nudging at him again, pushing the frequency higher than the previous time, since it hadn't done any harm that he'd noticed. "It's easier to avoid idiot government minions when they think you're dead." And he'd wanted to avoid them, or he'd never have gotten where he wanted to go. Never been able to contribute to the war the only way he thought he could until Helen had called him to Britain.

Methos barely hears Tesla's last sentence over the sudden rush of Quickening energy surging through him. All of the calm he'd won has vanished in a heartbeat, and the need that had been running under his skin like a fever has returned tenfold. He takes a step towards Nikola then stops, his hands clenched into fists in his coat pockets as he struggles to maintain control. He'd never realized the depths of his own Quickening before, or the sheer power behind it, or the ease with which someone could be overwhelmed by it, until Tesla had put him on the recieving end of it. He *wants*, with a hunger that makes him ache - and not just in the indiscriminate way that usually follows a Quickening. It's Nikola he wants, and he's not sure if his desire or his fear of that desire is stronger.

Raising an eyebrow, Nikola grins again, an expression that Helen would recognize as impending trouble. It's amazing how easy it is to manipulate Adam through the field he generates, and he wonders what would happen if he changed the amplitude as well as the frequency. The thought is barely formed before he decides to try, and it's a little more effort to alter that second dimension of the field.

Methos takes a breath that's almost a gasp, lifting his eyes to Nikola's own. He's vaguely aware that there's a real danger in this, that the vampire has a power over him that should by rights mean the former's death, but it's too hard to concentrate right now, with every inch of his skin craving Nikola's touch and the desire to bare his throat to the vampire an almost palpable thing.

"What do you want?" he asks, and can't even care that he sounds two seconds away from begging, so strong are his own wants.

"To understand how the field works, why you generate it, everything." Nikola is fairly certain by now that Adam's baggy clothes are hiding more than he'd care to admit, with his pupils widening as they are, and the sound of his voice. Much like James' when he was aroused and wanting, but different enough for him not to mistake Adam for James. Not again, anyway. "I've never encountered anything like it, and it's fascinating."

"You could try asking, rather than rummaging blindly around," Methos points out - though to give the vampire his due, he's more likely to get honest answers with the approach he's using now. Methos turns slightly away, trying to get body and mind back under control. "That's my soul you're playing with," he adds, "at least in essence. What you've been doing - there are side effects."

"In my experience, people don't tend to tell the truth about these things." At least, he tried not to tell the truth about what he's up to, not unless he had to. The only person Nikola trusts to be truthful... actually, he doesn't know that he does trust anyone to be truthful.

"That's because not every questioner has the right to an honest answer." Methos tries to even out his breathing, but whatever it is that Nikola is doing to his Quickening is making it almost impossible for him to concentrate even that much on anything but the power humming just under his skin, and the hunger running along it and through him. "It's called a Quickening, and as I've told you, it keeps me young and alive. It also ensures that any wound I take will heal, death included. Playing with it like you've been doing..." He stops, unsure as to whether or not he should explain further, and trying to decide if he hopes Nikola pushes again or not. He's already on the ragged edge of control as it is. One more push might leave that edge behind, and Methos isn't sure whether he should want as much or not. He does want it - he just isn't sure it's a good idea.

Nikola quirks up one corner of his mouth a moment, shedding his jacket, and hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. "You don't appear to be harmed by the experience." He nudges it slightly again, increasing the amplitude as he decreases the frequency slightly, watching Adam closely to see what it does. "You seem to be enjoying it, actually."

Whatever Tesla is doing to his Quickening sends a shudder through Methos, and he bites his lip until he tastes blood in an effort to keep from admitting just how much he is getting from what appears to be nothing more than a parlor trick to Nikola.

"Human beings enjoy all kinds of things that aren't necessarily good for them - and there's a difference between enjoyment and having one's desires brought to the forefront and kept that way without relief."

Chuckling, Nikola shrugs, settling into the chair he's tossed his jacket over. "Tell me what it's like. What you want." He's intrigued by what his manipulation might be doing to Adam, what it might mean for the rest of the evening. Though, if he's honest, he has a pretty good idea what it might mean, and he's looking forward to it. He hasn't had fun like this in decades.

Methos ignores the first question, unwilling to tell Nikola just how much access the ability to manipulate his Quickening actually gives the vampire. The second question is safer - though not, perhaps, easier.

"Well?" Nikola nudges at the field again, another increase in aplitude, though without touching frequency. It seems that he gets answers more readily after he does something with the field - Quickening, as Adam called it, though why use that particular word to describe it, he's not sure. It's certainly not a desciptive anyone in the last century would have come up with as far as he's concerned. Which means Adam's probably older than Nikola.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to remember that this is a bad idea, that he's supposed to be Adam Pierson, who doesn't play these sorts of games.

"I want -" He stops, takes a breath. It's the closest he can get to hesitant right now. "You, in me - I want..." He lets himself trail off. Methos knows exactly what he wants, but Adam wouldn't, and Nikola is already too far inside his head as it is.

Nikola scoffs, fiddling with his cuffs a moment before he gestures, the metal platter with a bottle of wine and a glass on it coming over. He pours himself a glass, watching Adam with some irritation. "Don't tell me you're still trying to figure out what you like. You're older than I am, probably, and even I know more about what I want than a simple fuck. And seriously, if you're going to pretend you're younger than I am, at least learn better terminology for what you're generating." He pushes at the frequency again, wondering just how far he can push it before Adam makes a move.

"The terminology is older than I am," Methos points out, taking a sort of refuge in explanation. There's clearly no point in trying to play the child here, but he's still not sure how much he wants to share. There's a decent chance that he wouldn't be able to kill the vampire even if he tried, not with Nikola's ability to manipulate Quickenings. He's going to have to play this by ear, which he absolutely hates doing, especially when vulnerable. "The English word is a translation, of course. I don't remember what language was used the first time I heard the term. Hittite, maybe - though even that is probably too recent." Letting go of Adam is a relief, like taking off a pair of too small shoes.

Taking a sip of his wine covers Nikola's surprise, if only for a moment - Hittite is old enough, and older could mean a human language, or it could mean that of the ancient vampires. Or, he supposes, the Praxians, but that wouldn't be as fascinating as the term originally being bestowed by the vampires. He'll have to find the word closest to the English translation later, and see what happens if he uses that to refer to the EM field.

"I knew you were older than you pretended to be." He can't help the grin that speads across his face, and Nikola sets the glass aside again, the wine a secondary interest to Adam. "How much older, now that's the question."

"I honestly couldn't tell you." Methos smiles thinly. "I couldn't even tell you how many times the calendar has changed since then. I've seen something like six millenia, though - give or take a century or three."

Nikola laughs, his grin widening a fraction. "You've met the ancient vampires." It gives an entirely different perspective to Adam's reaction to what Nikola is. "This is great. I mean, other than Afina, I haven't really met anyone who lived in the golden age of vampires. I never expected to, with the vampires extinct." Or at least, mostly, until he and Helen had found Afina, and Helen had revamped him. Now there was one, once more. It's better than none, but it still means he has less of his ancestors' history and glory than he wants.

"I did," Methos admits, "though I wasn't precisely on friendly terms with any of them. I expended quite a lot of energy to ensure that they stopped using my kind as a renewable food source. Immortal blood apparently makes an especially interesting meal." The Horsemen had done a great deal of damage to the vampires who'd been their contemporaries. Caspian had been especially fond of killing them. Of course, none of those vampires had been able to use Quickenings as playthings. Nikola might be a relative infant, but to an Immortal, he's a thousand times more dangerous than any of his elders had ever been.

Nikola shrugs, his promise never to drink human blood briefly flitting through his thoughts, embedded enough in his psyche that even when he'd been off his medication in the 1940s, he hadn't actually drank from any of those he'd killed. "I'm not interested in your blood."

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, waving to the other chair in the room, inviting Adam to sit down. Leaving the temptation to prod at the field alone for the moment - to give Adam a chance to relax a little before he plays some more. He hasn't forgotten what was said about keeping desires at the front of things without relief, though he doesn't think it's so much relief as possibly frustration without the release of being brought over the edge.

"That's a pity." Methos pulls his coat off and drapes it over the arm of the chair before sitting down. He's been bitten before, and the sensation is... not unpleasant - though with his Quickening settling somewhat, it's less of a disappointment than it might have been otherwise.

"I made a promise, and I haven't broken it in over a century. I'm not going to do so now." Nikola picks up his glass again. "Why is a pity I'm not interested in your blood?" The suggestion that it might not be the painful and unpleasant experience that he remembers it being when Afina bit him is intriguing.

"Two reasons." Methos leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. "The first is that at my age, variety is not only the spice of life, it's how one stays interested enough in the world to keep that life. After enough time, everything begins to pall. The second..." He shrugs. "There's a certain appeal to risking one's only true vulnerability."

"And that vulnerability?" Nikola idly nudges at the field again, pushing the amplitude down this time - though not far, since he hasn't any idea just what it will do. Smaller peaks, as close together as they were when the field was at whatever passed for in balance. Possibly calming, since the larger peaks had clearly been arousing. Or perhaps some other effect, he's not particularly worried about what.

Methos' instincts tell him not to answer, but then again, it's not as if he could be any more vulnerable than he already is, or as if common sense couldn't provide the answer anyway.

"Even Immortals die when you cut their heads off," he says dryly. "Anything else is just a temporary inconvenience."

"Well, that has to be annoying." Nikola isn't sure anything short of being at ground zero of an atomic blast can kill him - although his survival of the last explosion he was in had more to do with his ability to manipulate magnetic fields than anything else. "I do promise I won't attempt to cut your head off, though." He takes a sip of his wine, and abandons his current experiment with Adam's Quickening in favor of ramping it back up slowly, frequency and amplitude both. Just a little at a time, trying to create a more subtle effect than before.

"Good to know." Methos smiles faintly. "I wouldn't take very well to the attempt." Assuming Nikola couldn't disable him entirely, anyway. "All manner of people have tried over the years, and they all died for it." Even vampires can be killed, though it takes some serious effort. He and Kronos had found that out together.

"Humanity has an annoying habit of attempting to destroy what it doesn't understand." Nikola frowns, memories briefly surfacing of the Cabal's attempts to capture him, and their actions against Helen and the Sanctuary network before he shoves them away again. "Or they attempt to control it, and use it to destroy each other. It's all very barbaric."

"True enough. In my case, however, the danger comes primarily from other Immortals - though I'll admit to being glad that beheading is no longer a primary method of execution, and that severed heads are not considered trophies in this era." He shifts slightly in his seat as the Quickening tension begins to rise again. "It makes things a little simpler."

"Don't they have anything better to do? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know yet." Nikola holds up a hand before Adam even has a chance to answer. "Later, though, I might ask again. There are more important things right now than some abnormals' idea of lethal recreation." He watches Adam over his glass while he takes a sip of his wine. He'll have to refill his glass soon, but that's not really a worry.

"Immortal, not abnormal," Methos says. "We're all basically cut from the same pattern so far as extra abilities are concerned." Explaining is at least a distraction from whatever it is Nikola is doing to his Quickening. "There are some of us who are capable of things like magic. I suppose they'd be the abnormals, at least among Immortals."

"So an entire race of abnormals, some with their own interesting mutations beyond what makes you more remarkable than the average mortal human on the street." Nikola waves dismissively at that, brushing the whole argument about semantics to one side, though he doubts the discussion is over in the long run. It might even be interesting to argue it later, but not now.

"Right now, I'm more interested in you. Are you going to keep hiding under that atrocious sweater? Even wolf-boy has better taste, and he takes his fashion advice from... oh, I don't know, the latest awful variation on what kids call music these days."

"It is atrocious, isn't it?" Methos says, looking at the garment in question. He looks back up at Nikola. "I suppose if it bothers you that badly, I can dispense with it." He stands up and pulls it off over his head, smoothing down the tshirt he's wearing underneath it.

Nikola grins, reaching for the wine bottle to refill his glass. "Better, even if you are wearing one of those t-shirts that are such a popular thing these days." He leans back in his chair again, smirking slightly as he watches Adam. "You're welcome to remove that as well, though the view is already much better." There's clearly some lean muscle on Adam's frame, the sort that comes from being fit rather than attempting to look like some hulking moron.

"You could help, if you wanted." Methos is already pulling his shirt off. He's not sure how much of the rising hunger that's rushing through his veins and over his skin is caused by Nikola's toying with his Quickening and how much of it is his own desires, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to care.

"And end the show so soon? I may enjoy instant gratification in the satisfying of my intellectual curiosity, but there are some things that are just better enjoyed when they're drawn out." Nikola gives Adam an appreciative once-over, grinning as he returns his gaze to Adam's face. "Besides, you seem to be doing a pretty good job on your own."

Methos can almost feel Nikola's gaze, like a ghostly touch on his so-sensitive skin. He's achingly hard again, and wanting, with a strength of desire that he hasn't felt in decades, or even longer. He drops his discarded t-shirt onto the floor with his sweater, then takes a few moments to remove most of his arsenal, putting the weapons in a neat row on the table before sitting down and starting on his boots. Once they're off he stands up again, catching Nikola's gaze and holding it while he opens his jeans, sliding them down over his hips and stepping out of them once they puddle on the floor.

"Oh, now that is beautiful." Nikola can't help the memories that tease at the edge of his memory, though he never saw James so completely disrobed. Not even when they were putting the machine in place that would sustain his life and vitality for so long. This, though, is still skirting the edge of painful, to see unmarred skin where his memories insist there should be metal and tubing and dials.

He spreads his arms with a grin, banishing painful memories to the back of his mind again. There will be no mistaking Adam for James, not with the play of the field at the edge of his mind, or the knowledge he's gleaned over the last half-hour or so. "I haven't had anyone unwrap me in decades, so feel free to take your time."

Methos needs no further encouragement, not with Nikola so temptingly close, with his Quickening intensifying every look, every touch, every desire. His hands are even shaking a little bit.

He starts with Nikola's shirt, stealing a touch here, a caress there, as he undoes each button. By the time he's halfway done, his hands have stopped shaking, but the strength of his desire has increased a hundredfold. He uses Nikola's shirt to pull him in closer, leaning in himself to steal a kiss.

Nikola sets his glass down as Adam grips the edges of his shirt, letting himself be pulled closer for a kiss, nipping with blunt human teeth at Adam's lower lip. Pushing out of his chair into Adam's personal space, close enough to feel the heat coming off his companion. "Impatient," he says quietly as they part for air. "I like that."

"I have good reason to be impatient," Methos points out, before leaning in for another kiss even as he works on divesting Nikola of the rest of his clothing. He steals every touch he can, the lightning running through his veins making even the simplest caress echo through him.

"I haven't wanted anyone this much in a very long time," he murmurs between kisses. "Not since Byron." And maybe not even then. The heat and desire and need that's building still reminds him of the earliest days with Kronos, before they were four.

"I will admit to making sure of that." Nikola isn't being as careful about the build now, his control slipping slightly as Adam draws out Nikola's own arousal. The blood-lust lurks behind the edges of other desires, but he's eaten recently enough he shouldn't loose control of it. "The last time I felt like this, though, I was able to get intoxicated." And more than a century ago, before the experiment with the Source Blood, when the Five were just avid scientists eager to explore the physical world.

Methos laughs breathlessly, and kisses him again. "You still can. The last vampire who bit me certainly seemed to." He supposes he should feel bad about trying to tempt Nikola into breaking his promise, but at the moment, he doesn't care: he just *wants*. "And I was three thousand years younger then." He feels intoxicated himself, swept away by the Quickening and the desire that both it and Nikola have provoked, and thinking about anything but this moment has become almost impossible.

"Sorry, not that sort of hungry at the moment." Nikola is a little breathless himself, and he grins, pulling Adam toward the bed that dominates the other side of the room. "Maybe some other time." He is aware of his voice dropping the half-octave that it does when he shifts between one state and the other. Teeth sharp against his tongue for a moment before he pulls himself back under control.

"Maybe I'll have changed my mind by then," Methos points out, pulling Nikola down onto the bed with him. "It's not as if you could do any damage. Even if you were to drain me dry, I'd be over it in ten minutes, if that long. There are some advantages to being the oldest."

"I ate only a couple of hours ago, I'm sorry." Nikola shrugs, not at all apologetic, particularly not with the rising hunger for other matters. He gives Adam a jolt, pushing the field's frequency as far up as he can at the moment, resting a hand on one side of Adam's chest. Sparking electricity between his fingers, enough voltage to tingle along the nerves, without the amperage to kill.

Quickening-fire washes along every nerve ending, with a strength that leaves Methos trembling. It's been nearly two hundred years since he'd last taken a Quickening, and longer still since he'd taken one with even a fraction of the power of his own. The ecstasy of it is untouched by the pain that usually tempers the rush, and it doesn't fade, either. It goes on and on, stretching what can only be a few seconds out into timelessness, and the flood of desire that accompanies it is overwhelming. Thought and caution are impossibilities, and even the simple touch of Nikola's hand is intoxicating.

"Please," Methos gasps, and isn't sure what he's asking for.

"Tell me what you want?" Nikola's fairly certain, with how far he's pushed the field, it's hard for Adam to put together a coherent thought, at least if previous observations extrapolate well. He's still going to ask, even if he doesn't exactly expect an answer. Sparking electricity between his fingers again, he runs his hand down Adam's flank, careful to skirt his groin. No need to end this quickly, after all.

Methos arches up into the touch, trying to hold on to the last vestiges of thought, of control. He thinks he's still speaking English, but he can't be certain.

"Fuck me. Take me, use me - gods, whatever you want." He's trembling with need, further from control than he's been in centuries and hanging onto what's left by his fingernails.

Nikola growls softly, his voice dropping as he slips between human and vampire visages, appreciative of the offer of utter surrender. He explores over Adam's body as he plays with the frequency and amplitude of his Quickening, electricity dancing between his fingers to add to the sensation. The long claws that his fingernails have become scratch despite his care, leaving cuts that heal almost as fast as he does, and Nikola draws in a sharp breath at the sight.

Methos barely feels the cuts, the flash of pain lost in the sensations flooding through him. He wants more, pain as well as pleasure, until they blend into something he can't separate, until he can't tell one from the other.

"You don't have to be careful with me," he says, or thinks he says. He can't be sure.

Whatever language Adam's speaking, Nikola can't understand, but he can hear the pleading note underlying it, and he increases the voltage he's using, curling his hand a little inward as he continues to explore. Watching as deeper cuts are opened and heal, and making a mental note to tip the maid generously to keep her from reporting just how much blood she finds on the sheets. He doesn't need to make a quick escape just because he was having some fun.

Methos' breath catches in his throat, with a sound that's almost a sob. He doesn't care. He presses up into the touch, asking wordlessly for more. He's dizzy with need and hunger, and remembering what century he's in is becoming increasingly difficult. He half-expects to see Kronos walk through the door, or maybe Byron.

Keeping his own hunger under control is becoming an effort, and Nikola runs his hand down to wrap it around Adam's cock, claws scraping over sensative skin. Pressing close enough to rut against Adam's hip as he moves his hand in an easy rhythm, giving his wrist just a slight twist at the end. He brings his other hand up, gripping Adam's hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat.

This is too much, too good, as dangerous as that first raid with Kronos, and it doesn't matter. Nikola's hand on his cock wrings a choked gasp from him, and the hand in his hair, the stretch of his throat, is enough to make him beg in half a dozen languages, wanting everything that Nikola will give him. Somewhere in his mind, one small part of Methos knows that this is beyond foolish, but the rest of him is already lost.

Grinning against the thin skin of Adam's throat, Nikola plays electricity around the hand still steadily pumping Adam's cock, stimulating - and overstimulating - nerve endings, his own arousal building to fever-pitch as he draws in the heady scent of desire, pain and need that's rising off Adam. Barely avoiding biting down on his jugular, burying his teeth into the ridge of muscle across his shoulder instead. Coming hard, and almost unaware of pushing the frequency of Adam's Quickening further than he had before, high enough that it practically hums just above the threshold of his hearing, as if he's standing near high-voltage power lines.

Methos' vision whites out, the world falling away as release sends him over the edge and still further. Time blurs and stops, and for an endless moment he doesn't know where he is, or when: all he has is the hands on him and the body pressed up against his.

Nikola draws in a deep breath, settling himself and letting go of Adam's shoulder as his teeth return to blunt human normal. Licking away the blood, the flavor something that does seem to recall the memories of being pleasantly drunk on a good wine. Not enough of it to actually do anything more, but enough to remind him to be careful around Adam's blood.

Though at the moment, the mess they've made is a little more of a pressing concern, and Nikola makes a brief face before nudging Adam's shoulder. He hopes he hasn't overloaded his nerves so much he doesn't have the coordination to get to the bathroom, even if he requires Nikola's assistance. "Shower, Adam. Although I'll allow that this hotel has a decent bathtub in the bathroom, I'm not inclined to make sure you don't drown in the process."

It takes Methos a long moment to answer. The world comes back slowly, and memory more so. He manages a wave of his hand, and a half smile.

"I'd get over it." He doesn't want to move just yet, or at all, really.

"I'm sure you would. I'm not sure the maid would get over finding a temporary corpse if she showed up to change the sheets at the wrong moment." Nikola doesn't actually care about the psyche of the hypothetical maid, but rather the chances that the police will be called and necessitate a phone call to Helen for help. Then he'd have to explain how he got himself in trouble, and he's not interested in her lecture.

"That's what the do not disturb sign is for," Methos points out, but sits up anyway. The room tilts a little, and his muscles don't seem to want to work properly, but it's not unmanagable. If he had any sense, he thinks, he'd put his clothes back on and leave, and worry about showering once he was far away. No one has ever been able to manipulate his Quickening, or to disable him so completely without warning. Of course, if he had any sense, he'd have walked away from Kronos that first day too.

"Not when I want them to change the sheets." Nikola is already on his feet, and collects a fresh suit on his way to the bathroom. "Although the day is hardly over, and I can think of any number of things to do to pass the time, I still prefer not to have a damp spot on the bed when I do remember to sleep. Or worse."

"Young people." Methos smirks. "You're all so picky." He gets to his feet reluctantly, scooping up his clothing on the way to the bathroom. "You'd never have made it through the Middle Ages."

Nikola chuckles, hanging up his suit before he turns. "Than it's a good thing I never had to." The bathroom is as well-appointed as the rest of the hotel room, and he reaches into the shower to turn it on, as warm as he can get the water out of the tap. "And so long as no one does something stupid to send the world back to that, I never will."

"Civilization's more precarious than most people realize," Methos says. He himself has a vial of Kronos' plague tucked away, and there have been days when he was tempted to use it. "And the argument can be made that a little apocalypse might be a good thing. There used to be a lot more room in the world."

"There also used to be a more advanced civilization which kept humans under a certain amount of control, though I honestly don't think quite so highly of the ancient vampires as I once did. There's something about meeting the sort of inbred morons they became to tarnish their image." Nikola grimaces before he steps into the shower, standing beneath the hot water for a long moment. "I still think the world would be better off if I found a way to remake the vampires in my image, and took over, but I have some friends who disagree."

Of course, he's willing enough to allow Helen to derail his plans, because if they're not good enough to escape her notice until it's too late, there's a flaw in them anyway that wouldn't have done him any favors in the long run.

"Even world domination gets boring after a while," Methos says, stepping into the shower after him. "Though I've heard worse plans than yours, and participated in a few. Some of them even worked, to an extent." The Horsemen hadn't ruled the world in the traditional sense, but then, none of them had possessed the necessary temperment for administration. They'd been content to terrify their contemporaries and to take what they wanted, when they wanted.

"All I want is the glory of my ancestors, and for humans to stop the sort of petty arguing that gets in the way of science and culture." Nikola rolls his eyes, giving a theatrical sigh as he turns to look at Adam. "Really, is that too much to ask for? I know, humans seem to be hard-wired for conflict, so please spare me the attempt to shatter my illusions. I've enjoyed them this long, I intend to keep on doing so for a long time yet."

"Conflict has been behind a great many scientific advances," Methos points out, "and while mortals can treasure their illusions, those of us with longer lifespans ought to know better - at least, if you intend to keep on living, and especially if you intend to conquer the world." He lifts an eyebrow at Nikola. "Are you actually serious about that?"

"It also destroyed technological genius that hasn't been seen again even now." Nikola pauses, and grins a little. "Except me, but I am the heir to the greatest race in history." He reaches for the soap, letting a thoughtful expression cross his face as he considered Adam's question. "Most of the time I am. At least in the last seventy years. I never really considered it before then." Not as anything more than an idle thought when utterly bored, and without the means to bother one of the other of the Five.

"I can't say that I agree with your assessment of your ancestors," Methos says dryly. "Certainly my brothers and I never found them terribly impressive. Then again, we were never terribly impressed with anyone, excepting ourselves. But if you're serious about ruling the world, I might be persuaded to help. Hiding is getting more difficult by the decade."

"The scientific advances we're making today are all still just attempts to regain everything the vampires achieved before humans came out of their caves." A wistful smile crosses Nikola's face. "Energy weapons, stasis, the passage of information in blood without any risk of misunderstanding. All of that and more, and humans haven't even rediscovered a fraction of it."

He looks over at Adam sharply at the offer to help, regarding him with a slight frown for a long moment. Nikola isn't sure how genuine the offer is, but even if Adam's planning to stab him in the back as so many others have done, he could use the help. Sometimes he forgets about things that are blindingly obvious flaws - otherwise, he probably wouldn't be as unconcerned about Helen's constant dismantling of his plans.

"The offer is appreciated, but I'd like to know more about what's motivating it before I say yes."

"Nostalgia, at least in part. My brothers are dead, and weren't suited to actually run things even if they were still alive." He doesn't mention his own role in their deaths. "And I'm bored, which is as good as a death sentence for an Immortal. Add to that the malaise that comes from spending the last few centuries hiding and pretending to be less than I am, and the increasing difficulty of keeping off of everyone's radar..." He shrugs. "I'm tired of being Adam Pierson, or someone like him. Dead languages are not the only thing I'm good at, but even I get rusty after a few hundred years of running and hiding."

Nikola turns off the water once he's done, mulling over what Adam's said while he reaches for a towel. "At least you're already aware humans won't like turning over the rule of what they consider their planet to people they consider something less than what they are." He doesn't like that aspect of humanity, remembers well seeing that ugly side of it a bit closer than he liked. But it had given him a purpose, something to do other than invent things other people would take credit for.

"I'm too old not to be aware of it," Methos says, snagging a towel of his own and drying off his face before starting on his hair. "The solution is fairly simple, though admittedly bloody." He smiles thinly. "It always worked for us, anyway. And in this day and age, the threat is usually enough."

"Which is one of the reasons I want to recreate the vampire race." Nikola knows his second attempt created a better result, even if it did result in his temporary devamping. Next time he'll have to find better subjects than the spoiled scions of upper society. The brats have no sense of timing or caution, and they're not old enough to understand the need to follow a more experienced individual. "Provided I find the right subjects, they'll make a nearly unstoppable army."

"And if it doesn't work, or things go wrong?" Methos finishes drying off and drops his towel on the floor before reaching for his jeans. "Unstoppable armies are all well and good, but they're a double-edged sword. If they turn on you, that unstoppability becomes a serious problem. Vampires are not easy to kill. On the other hand, with enough funding and the proper facilities, it would certainly be worth trying. I have access to several laboratories in Central Europe, and no lack of funds." He'd gone digging through Kronos' finances after Bordeaux, in order to keep the Watchers from doing the same.

"I don't design these things without a failsafe. Although this time, I'll find a power source for it that isn't me." Nikola dresses with the same care he's used for over a century, though at least the collarless shirt that goes with this suit doesn't require cravat or tie. He doesn't really care to bother with it at the moment. "And of course, there's finding the right subjects who aren't as inclined to do something stupid just to prove they don't need me."

"Both issues which I'll gladly leave to you." Methos does what he can to get his hair to lie flat, then gives it up for a lost cause. "My strong points are tactics and strategy. Kronos was the scientist, not me." Not unless one counted the science of human endurance, and the effects of pain and pleasure on the mind and body.

"I take it this Kronos was one of your brothers?" Once he's certain he's properly dressed, Nikola heads back out into the room, going for the phone first to have someone send up a maid to change the sheets. It helps that he's been generous with his tips - his and John's raiding of the Cabal had helped his finances, as had the clinic where he'd made his second attempt at recreating the vampire race. "Would you care for dinner in, or dinner out? Although I have to admit, I'd rather order room service if that's the best clothing you have."

"Room service it is, then," Methos says, unoffended. Nikola's reaction to his clothes means that they're achieving the intended result. "And yes, Kronos was my brother, though not genetically. Immortals have no blood relatives. We just used the term among the four of us."

Nikola makes a mental note to let Helen dress Adam the next time he sees her. She has impeccable taste, and he can't be bothered with those details. "You said earlier you're tired of being Adam Pierson, which is the name you gave me. What's your real name?" He isn't sure he can believe there's no genetic connection between Immortals, but then, genetics isn't exactly his strong point. Another reason to try to convince Helen that his plans are the right ones, and that she can help.

Habit makes him reluctant to answer, but after a brief pause, he does so anyway.

"Methos. Though I don't use it, save for with a select few, and never in public."

He's heard that name before, in some of the fragments of legends he's gathered about his ancestors. It's a name that was associated with their decline before their final downfall. "One of the raiders who weakened the empire before the humans brought it down." Nikola isn't actually worried about that, not now, not after meeting Afina. He'd have felt differently before, he's certain, but now it just means he has one of the most dangerous ancients of all history on his side. "You're a legend in your own right. This is amazing. I can't wait to see the look on Helen's face when she realizes who I have helping me. Of course, that can't be any time soon, but still, it should be quite interesting."

"As I said - it's not something I advertise. I'm something of a legend among mortals too, though they don't know my name or even that I'm real, and among my own kind as well. With them, it's because of my age - and that makes me very interesting to head hunters."

"And why would they be trying to cut off your head, other than an obvious desire to kill you because children always think they're better than their elders?" Nikola is willing to admit he's been as bad about thinking he's better than others older than him, at least when he'd been certain there were others older than him. And probably still are, though he's not about to admit to being anything other than the best and brightest, no matter how much older any of these Immortals are.

"Because by taking my head, they get my Quickening and everything that goes with it. It's part and parcel of being Immortal, and the reason I'm carrying a sword as well as the weaponry you saw earlier. We call it the Game, but it's anything but. The main thrust of it is that when it's over, the last one standing gets the Prize. Of course, no one knows what that is, but that doesn't deter those who want to claim it." Methos sprawls into the nearest chair and wishes he had a beer. He hates trying to explain the Game to outsiders, even when he leaves out his own part in its origins. "I'm the oldest of my kind, and have managed to convince most of them that I'm a fairy tale - but their finding out otherwise would lead to a flood of challenges that I don't feel like meeting."

"Then we'll have to keep them from finding out until we're well established enough to have the most amatuerish and boring of them weeded out by the security features of a citadel." Nikola shrugs, dropping into his own chair, and reaching for the glass of wine he'd abandoned earlier. "They aren't all that stupid, are they, to think some mythical prize is worth destroying centuries or millennia worth of knowledge and experience?"

"Not precisely. The Quickening is more than just an electrical field. In a way, it really is the equivalent of a soul. It carries memory and knowledge, and power, and it's what lives on after we die - except that instead of heaven or hell, it gets absorbed by whoever kills us."

"If you even believe such places exist, in a metaphysical sense." Nikola's lived through hell, as far as he's concerned, and he hasn't really feared it since the Source Blood experiment, any more than he's had a strong desire to see heaven. After all, that would mean he was dead, and that isn't on his agenda. "And no matter how well stored that information is, I can't imagine it's entirely safe once you destabilize that field by killing the host."

"That depends on the Immortals concerned." Methos makes a face. "It's not unheard of for the loser to overwhelm the victor, when the former is significantly stronger, though it is unusual. There's very little about a Quickening that's entirely predictable. It's one of the reasons I try to avoid taking them." He looks at Nikola, narrow-eyed. "It's also why I think I'd prefer you not to go mucking about with mine again."

He knows himself all too well. Much more of the ecstasy Nikola had fed him earlier, and he might not be able to walk away even if he wanted to. It had taken him three hundred years to pry himself free of Kronos after deciding that staying would eventually prove fatal, and things happen at a much faster pace now than they had in those days. He doesn't want to be tied to anyone, much less a vampire with ambitions that might or might not prove successful. Of course, he's not exactly sure how he'd stop Nikola, since it had taken himself and Kronos both to put down the vampires they'd killed together - and even then, it had been bloody, dangerous work. 

In this case, he suspects that he's going to have to trust to the power of his reputation, or maybe to run, if that doesn't work. It's one thing to make an alliance - and something else altogether to become addicted yet again to someone as dangerous as Nikola undoubtedly is.

"You can't deny it was fun, though." Nikola grins, leaning back in his chair before he takes another sip of wine. "Even if you clearly think it isn't worth further experimentation." An attitude that he certainly doesn't have, though he'll play nice for now, and leave it be. Until he gets bored or intrigued enough to see what else he can do with it. Methos' reactions had proven entertaining, to say the least.

"Not when there's the possibility of scrambling my brain - or of waking up parts of myself I've deliberately put to sleep." Methos doesn't think there's any real danger of the former, or much danger of the latter, but he's not about to admit to his true worries. Only a fool tells anyone what he really fears. "I'm actually a fairly pleasant person these days. I very much doubt you'd enjoy an encounter with the man I used to be." He smiles thinly. "Your ancestors certainly didn't." Hopefully, Nikola will see that as a warning rather than a challenge. Death is hardly as well buried as Methos has implied, especially since Bordeaux, but with no brothers to watch his back, he doesn't particularly want to take on a vampire - especially this one.

"We wouldn't want to scramble your brain." Nikola tilts his head in acknowledgement of that, though he's not nearly so certain about not wanting to wake up parts of Methos he's left sleeping. After all, there's only so much to be found out if a person isn't entirely themselves. "And my ancestors, while brilliant, probably deserved what they got at your hands." He still doesn't think they deserved the end humans gave them in the end, but he doubts Methos was involved in the end of it.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Methos lets himself sink a little deeper into his chair. "That wasn't something I concerned myself with at the time. Death has nothing to do with what's *deserved,* and while I claimed that name, neither did I." Nor does he, really, even now.

**Author's Note:**

> Written 2011/2012. Unedited.


End file.
